Apology Accepted
by Severus Lawliet
Summary: They tell her it's postpartum depression. But she was feeling like this before she had the baby.
1. Accepted

"How are you doing?"

Oh, Finn. Stupid, stupid, naive Finn. My beautiful Finn. Only he would see a girl in the hallways that gave birth to his best friend's kid while he was dating her, and only he would walk right up to her and smile and say hi. Only he would ask how she was doing.

"Not so well, actually. They say it's postpartum depression." _Not that it makes a difference, Finn. After all, I felt like crap before._

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." And he does look sorry to hear it.

"Finn!"

I look over. That loud mouthed Rachel Berry. I force my lips into a smile, and turn my head towards her unnaturally.

"Oh, hi Rachel. Nice to see you." The words sound phony even to my own ears. Rachel doesn't bother to smile back. In fact, she doesn't even try to put on the same facade I'm trying too.

"Quinn." She says flatly. "I see you got out of the hospital." She doesn't sound too thrilled. Perhaps she wanted me to die from blood loss? I can't exactly blame her. I'm wishing I'd died from blood loss myself.

"Yeah." There really isn't anything else to say to that. So I keep on forcing my smile.

"That's great." The tone in her voice tells me that she doesn't think it's great. "Come on, Finn, I have something I want to show you."

_Don't you see I was talking here you bitch? I was talking, and not to you, so I guess that's why you thought it was so irrelevant. Get over yourself why don't you, and stand over there! I was talking! To him! SO WAIT!_

"Sure thing Rachel. See you later, Quinn."

"Bye." I wave towards him as he walks away with Rachel, both of them hand in hand, and I break. Something in me just cracks like glass, and I feel like throwing up. Tears sting at my eyes and I feel so off, so wrong, so worthless.

The doctor told me it was postpartum depression. She told me to think about something happy. She told me to think about something happy. I don't have anything happy to think about anymore. I don't have anything happy left.

I rudely shove my way past a few people and walk into the bathroom. I throw myself into a stall and lock it behind me, and just barely manage to sit down on the toilet lid before I begin to cry.

The doctor told me about this too. She told me that it was a symptom. Yeah right. It wasn't a symptom. It wasn't a disease. I was feeling like crap, because I probably was crap. Quinn Fabray - finally realized how much of a peice of shit she is.

I cry harder, and pull my knees to my chest. I know I'm in here for a while, because I can hear the first bell ring. I force myself to stop crying. I wipe my eyes on the back of my hands and leave the stall.

Obviously I'm having some beautiful luck, because nobody is standing there waiting for me to humiliate me. Even if I deserve it. And I do. So badly.

I drag myself to the mirror. Great. I smeared my mascara. Now I look like one of those stupid Goths. Or worse, a stupid Punk. For a while I used to think that Puck was a Goth, because of the mohawk. Thinking back on it, it's funny. But if I think about Puck, I'll start to cry again, so I stop.

I wipe the makeup off of my face, and stare at myself in the mirror. I've begun to let my hair hang without the ponytail now. I don't want to be the Quinn I used to be anymore. I don't want to be that Quinn. I hate cherrio Quinn. I hate all of those stupid cherrios now. Brittnay, Santanna...especially Santanna, who's been going out of her way to be a bitch to me ever since my pregancy became obvious.

I leave the bathroom, not caring how hideous I look without makeup.

"Hey, Quinn."

I turn around, and it's Santanna. Speak of the devil. Brittnay is standing behind her, like how they both used to stand behind me.

"Why do you follow her, Brittnay? She's even more of a bitch than I was."

"Is." Santanna corrects.

"As you like it." I say, waving her off.

"Look, preggo, we don't have time for this. We have to get to class. If you're lucky, maybe our History teacher can take the time out of his schedule to knock you up again."

Santanna is truly a master. My swiftness and bitchiness combined with her tone and facial expression really hit for a knock out punch. I felt like I was dying.

"Shut the fuck up, Santanna." I spit out, unable to think of a real comeback.

"Ooo, looks like Quinn is losing her touch, huh Brittnay?"

"Yep." Brittnay gives me an apologetic look. "She sure is."

Bitch.

_Bitch_.

"Well we all know you're the only one who's really that interested in our math teacher, Brittnay. After all, if you relied on academics alone to pass semester tests, you wouldn't have made it past middle grade." I snap.

"You don't have to be so mean, Quinn." Brittnay whines.

"Yeah. You're worse than you were before. Come on Brittnay. Let's leave Quinn to go find someone else to mate with. Who knows, if you've got a real luck streak today Quinn, you might be able to beg Karofsky into doing it with you."

The thought repulses me more than words.

"Goddamn it, Santanna! Just shut up!" I yell. I am seriously running out of any sort of comeback at this point, and I can feel my treacherous eyes brimming with tears.

"Uh oh, she's gonna cry now. Who knew Quinn could get her feelings hurt so easily."

"Yeah, who knew, huh Santanna?"

"Damn you." I say to them darkly, and spin on my heels to walk away.

"Wow, I wonder who you'll blame this time? Maybe you'll tell us that wheelchair boy is really the father! You can never really know with Quinn Fabray!"

That one hits me deep, and I feel a tear dripping down my face. Goddamn, now isn't the time to be crying. Now Isn't the time for that.

But I am, and I begin running down the hallway, throwing myself past anyone who pauses to glance at me. The hell with it. The hell with it. I've made up my mind now. If I'm going to be known as Quinn the Slut for the rest of my time here, I might as well throw myself off the top of the goddamn buildling. Which really doesn't sound that bad.

I'm headed for the stairs when I bump into someone, and intend on ignoring them and running past. And I almost do, but I lose my balance on the last minute and trip. My books fly from my grasp and lay on the floor, and I hit the hard tile with a thud.

_I'm so stupid I can't even manage to get to the top of the goddamned building?_

"Oh, sorry about that. Let me help you."

But I don't want help. I don't intend on getting up from the floor. I don't intend on getting up from where I belong. Because that's all I am - some shit on the bottom of somebody's shoe.

So I lay limply on the floor for a while, and I feel somebody trying to pull me to my feet.

"You actually have to put effort into standing up, you know."

I look over to a slightly irritated face. It's that Hummel boy. Both of us are surprised to see eachother, because he nearly drops me.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Santanna smirking at me from down the hallway.

Goddamn. As if things can get worse. The last thing I need if I ever want to patch up my popularity is to be seen anywhere near Kurt Hummel.

But at the moment, I could give a flaming hell about my goddamned popularity.

So, I let him help me up.

"Thanks." I manage to say. Tilting my head downwards in a feeble attempt to hide my pathetic tears.

"Quinn? You look...different."

_No shit, Sherlock_.

His high pitched drawl annoys me, but it's also kind of funny. But the last thing I want to do is start laughing obnoxiously. I don't need to scare him away.

"Oh, yeah. I guess I do." It's all I can think of to say, and I stare down at myself. I know my face looks like crap, my clothes already looked like crap, and I felt like crap too. I'm the real deal now. "I guess I do."

"Hn." It's not much of a reply, but it's better than just walking away. I bend down and begin to pick up my books, and he starts to do the same.

"You might want to get to class." I say.

"I knocked into you. It'd be rude not to help you pick up your things."

I don't point out that I had been the one to wildly crash into _him_, because I know it'll probably just be a waste of my breath. Besides, it's not really a bad thing to have somebody near you that's not calling you crap.

And then it happens in almost one wave. I turn around to pick up one of my pencils that has fallen onto the floor as well. I look up and see Karofsky walking towards us. Obviously my brain isn't working as fast as it usually does, because I don't see the large cup in his hands until it's too late.

"H-hey," I find myself saying. "Look out for that - "

_Look out look out _

It's too late. I hear a splash and Karofsky and Aizmo are walking down the hallway like it's nothing. Nothing at all. And now I'm on the other side. And now I see why it sucks. And now I really do feel like a bitch for having laughed before. Up close it looks so much worse.

It's the shock I think that does it. Eyes wide, face pale, mouth open.

And it's worse, because it was kind of poured on him instead of splashed into his face.

I don't say anything. We both stand up, and I drop my books.

I don't know what to say. I really don't.

"I'm sorry."

It's all I can think to say. Even though no family or pets have recently died, I know he still feels like crap and now I know how that feels more than ever. Now I say it and I'm surprised at how much feeling is into my voice as I say the simple words "I'm sorry" and I really mean it and somehow wish that I could talk louder or faster or push someone out of the way or something.

I almost wish it had been me. Because I deserve it. He doesn't.

"I'm really, really, sorry."

He stares back at me like I'm speaking in another language. I stare back at him, and it's almost like I am.

"It happens all the time. No problem. See you later."

He turns around to walk towards the boys' bathrooms, and I suddenly feel so sick. _It happens all the time_. I know it does. I know it happens all the time. And I used to watch. I used to giggle - no, I used to laugh. I used to think it was funny and cute and good.

I'm so fucking stupid.

And I'm so goddamned sorry.

I'm so sorry.

But no matter how much I think about it, I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself.


	2. Forgiven

There were three things that really made me wonder.

The first thing was why the hell I was anywhere near Rachel, let alone at her house for a stupid drinking party. The second thing was why on earth it had turned into a drinking party with straight laced Rachel Berry pulling the strings. And the third and final thing was why in all that is holy was I watching Santana make out with Sam.

I liked Sam. I had to admit. I really did. So, it didn't suprise me when I felt burning. Not burning in my face, but in my heart. Then I felt a cracking. Was that the sound of my breaking in two?

No. I needed to stop being so melodramatic. After all, I had kissed Finn, right? It was my fault Sam had gone for Santana in the first place.

_But she's such a goddamn sleaze!_

Then wasn't my place to say that. Then, as I stared at them from across the room, my heart in my throat and my shoulders limp from hurt, I realized that I was in no position to call anybody else a sleaze. I glanced over at Puck, who wasn't making out with anybody, surprisingly. But he also was not anywhere near sober.

Well, at least he wasn't be knocking up another girl with a reputation.

_But it wasn't rape! You went along with it, Quinn!_

A nagging in the back of my mind that I tried to shove out because it was just plain annoying. I was feeling way to bad right now to be degrading myself. At the moment, I had to degrade Santana as the whore she was, because at the moment she was lip locked with the guy that I actually liked. At the moment, I was pretty sure she was licking his tonsils. And that made me really depressed.

I just managed to kill that nagging as I stood up and walked away. Because that was really all I could do. And that hurt more than anything else in the world. Where was I going to go, anyway? I looked around me.

Drunk teenagers. Mercedes talking to nobody. Tina making out with Mike. Santana kissing (my) Sam. Brittnay stripping to Artie (WTF was up with that?) and Rachel making out with...

Who exactly _was_ Rachel making out with? It wasn't Finn, who'd surprisingly decided to stay sober. I counted off all the other guys on my fingers (besides Hummel, because the day he's kissing Rachel is also the day I give up on humanity in general), and realize that it's that boy from Dalton Academy that Hummel brought with him.

I stare oddly at the two, and they seem to really be getting into it. Then I remind myself that unlike me, they are drunk and not buzzed. Oh no, they are far from buzzed.

The game of spin the bottle has ended and the aftermath is really really haywire. Sure, Rachel kissed the Dalton boy during spin the bottle. We all saw that. But it was just a game. This was different...weird. They were making out. And it was weird. Because I was 99.9 percent sure that he was Kurt's gay friend.

I stood up, because maybe I had too much booze after all. I walked upstairs and out of that crazy basement, passing Brittnay and Artie as I went. Crazy, just crazy.

I debated just going home. That would proabably be the best source of action. Either that or watch everybody make out with everybody else all day. No thank you. I had things to do and places to be before I succumbed myself to that method of torture. So, as I made my way to the front door to let myself out (if they were all this drunk I doubt it'd matter if I left the door unlocked - they were so drunk that they'd probably let any lingering pervert in the house and invite him for a cup of tea), I paused slightly.

Someone was sitting on the couch in the living room. I turned. The Hummel boy? Indeed. He was sitting cross legged on the couch and staring off into space. As long as he was sober, it'd be nice to have somebody to talk to. But if he was drunk, I was leaving faster than I could blink.

"Hey." I said in a voice that sounded way too soft and quiet to be me. "Are you sober?" Might as well ask right out. He glanced up at me breifly before turning back to his feet.

"Relatively."

"If you're able to use words like that without slurring, I'm guessing that's a yes."

"And you?"

"I'm buzzed. I decided against drinking. You see where it got me last time." It was a distasteful joke, and I laughed to show I _was_ joking. He joined in a little late, a very quiet poor attempt at a giggle.

We sat staring at each other for a while, until finally I spoke again.

"It seems like we're the only sober ones now."

"Finn isn't drunk." Kurt pointed out.

"Might as well be for me to talk to him." I replied, and he got a look on his face that resembled understanding. Something I hadn't seen for quite a while.

Maybe this was going to be okay, after all.

"Who are you hiding from?" He asked bluntly.

"What?"

"There's someone downstairs you don't want to see kissing someone else, right?"

I blinked, and it was my turn to stare at the ground.

"Yeah." I replied after a while. "Yeah, you're right."

"Who?"

As if it wasn't obvious.

"Sam. My...my ex-boyfriend. With Santana. It's kind of..." I glanced towards his direction to see if he actually cared, and he looked interested enough. "It's kind of painful. I..._dislike_ her."

We didn't look at each other, and I cleared my throat.

"And you?" I asked lightly, in the same tone he used when asking me if I was sober or drunk.

"Not really a particular person." He lied. "Just kind of the...atmosphere. I don't really...fit in." It was an obvious lie, and I almost felt offended that he'd even question my intelligence like that.

"Don't be a hypocrite." I snipped. "I told you the truth, you can at least return the favor. I'm too smart to believe that."

"If you are really this observant, then it isn't hard to figure out." He said it dully, yet snidely. A tone of voice I lost with my pride a long time ago.

"The Dalton boy?" I said after a while.

"His name's Blaine."

He wasn't paying attention to me anymore. He was contemplating.

Contemplating _what_?

"Blaine? Hn. Did you like him?" It was stupid to ask, and he didn't try to hide that he thought so, too.

"Obviously. Did you like Sam?"

"Yes. He kind of...things happened and we...we broke it off. And then he started dating that.."

_That detestable slut, that evil conniving bitch, that -_

"Then he started dating Santana." I finished, not giving myself a chance to go off again. I looked over to the Hummel boy, and it took a while for him to realize I was expecting a reply from him.

"Oh, um...Blaine just wanted to be friends. He didn't...he didn't like me that way."

I could see the hurt he's trying to hide on his face. I could see it, and I could see that if he wasn't broken already then he was currently breaking. And he was breaking right here. I flinched and looked away, and suddenly bitter realization slapped me in the face.

"He told you he was gay, didn't he?" I asked abruptly.

"Yeah. But he's drunk. He probably doesn't even know what - "

I cut him off before he could finish the sentence.

"Hu-_Kurt_," I said as gently as possible, watching his expression carefully. "Booze does not _make_ you do things. It _lets_ you do things. It didn't _make_ me sleep with Puck. _I_ slept with Puck. It's not making that Da-_Blaine_," I corrected, "It's not making Blaine kiss Rachel. It's letting Blaine kiss Rachel."

That hurt that crossed his face that he was trying to cover up desprateley by raising his eyebrows, looking away from me and tensing his shoulders all at once made me remember. It made me remember how I was.

"So what?" He asked, in a voice too small to be the Kurt Hummel I didn't know and didn't love, "Then maybe he's just bi."

Hu-_Kurt_, stood up and was walking away, when some strange force made me grab his arm. I don't know what it was. I will never know what it was. But I did. I took it, and before he could turn around I stood up and swiftly stepped in front of him.

"You can't run away forever." I said. "I tried that, remember? It didn't work. It doesn't work."

"Quinn, let me go. I'm going home. This is getting out of control."

"Why? Because somebody else has their lips on your beloved?"

"I don't need this." He tried to snatch his arm away, but I only tightened my grip.

"Of course you don't, and neither do I. I'm trying to tell you. I'm trying to warn you. It doesn't work that way. If you love him now, then you'll never, ever stop. It'll only get worse, Hummel. It'll only get so much worse. I might have walked past it now, but - "

"You _what_?" He said it in a laughable tone, and just the tone of his voice shocked me so much that he managed to take his wrist back. "You did _what_? Oh yeah right, Quinn. Yeah right. You certianly walked past it."

"What are you laughing for?"

"You didn't walk past anything. Please don't be a hypocrite. You told me not to treat you like an idiot, can you return that favor to me?"

"I was serious."

"Sure you were. And so am I." It was sort of ironic, and he was telling me. He was telling me that not only did he think I was right, and that he still liked Blaine, but also that he didn't believe me. That I didn't get over anybody. Not Finn. Not Puck. Not Sam.

And he was right.

"You're right." _Might as well be honest now, Quinn. _"You're honestly and completly right."

"I know." His voice was cold and biting, and I wanted to yell. But I didn't.

"You can't hide forever."

"I _know_. I'm _not_. I stopped hiding a long time ago, Quinn."

Now it was my turn to laugh coldly.

"I used to tell myself otherwise, Kurt, but we're more alike than you and I think." I found myself saying. He stared at me, and waited for me to continue. I turned briskly away from him and walked to the front door, not before turning around and pausing.

"_We both like to play pretend, you know._" My voice was barely above a choked whisper, and I smiled. Before he had a chance to respond, I flung myself into the cold, not even bothering to get my coat. And I walked, no, I ran, to what I thought was my car but my vision was too blurry to tell.

And we did. We were both probably the biggest pretenders in the entire fucking world.


End file.
